


Pandora's Box Unveiled

by ChinVilla



Series: Pandora's Box [2]
Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Child Abuse, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Jay Halstead Whump, Minor Jay Halstead, Sexual Harassment, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChinVilla/pseuds/ChinVilla
Summary: He’d take his classmates' hazing over the events of May 5th, 1999 for the rest of his life if it prevented him from living in constant fear of a repeat.A prequel to my story 'Pandora's Box'.
Series: Pandora's Box [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100225
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	Pandora's Box Unveiled

**Author's Note:**

> I'm incredibly nervous about posting this. Might even take it down again if I get too overwhelmed and insecure about this piece. Just be warned.
> 
> I typically don’t expand on my one-shots. If a story is posted as such, I usually want to deliver a message that is supposed to be immensely powerful on its own. Whether I succeed in bringing that message across, writing a sequel to an intentional one-chapter story, in my opinion, often lessens the blow and the message loses some of its power.
> 
> However, on rare occasions there’s an invisible force that makes me want to revisit certain stories that are long since finished and posted. This is what happened here. There's a reason for this. It's a very personal one, and I highly doubt you're really interested in it. I put it at the end of the story anyway because it explains a few things. I just don't want to scare anyone away with a lengthy note.
> 
> Reader’s discretion advised. Rating is there for a reason. This is a highly delicate topic after all and rather graphic, too. Writing it made me sick to my stomach and gave me the worst case of anxiety, so even if you’re of the appropriate age but have a faint heart, please don’t read this. For those of you who actually have a stomach made of steel, here's the story.

It happened on May 5th, 1999. A Wednesday. Jay only remembered the date so clearly because it had been the day after his thirteenth birthday. Though, he probably wouldn’t have forgotten it if it had been any arbitrary date out of the entire calendar, the events horrendous enough that they would remain engraved into his mind forever.

As usual, a Wednesday school day ended with physical education, and as usual, Jay was the last to make it to the showers. He always ran one or two leisurely extra laps, either out on the field, or in the gym to cool down after class before he returned to the locker room. He didn’t do this for exercise. He didn’t do it because he loved to run – he did, but that wasn’t the point here. He did this for one reason and one reason only: he didn’t want his classmates to see the many bruises littering his way-too-small, slender frame. Bruises that couldn’t be explained by a little roughhousing with his older brother or friends he didn’t have. Bruises that had been his constant companion ever since he started questioning his father’s decisions and talked back to him whenever he didn’t agree with the old man.

He didn’t want his classmates to see those because it would give them yet more ammunition to bully him, push him around, shame him. They already had enough leverage, never missed a chance to remind him that he came from a lower-class family which wouldn’t in a million years be able to pay for the ridiculously high tuition of this fancy private school if it weren’t for his lousy academic scholarship. Jay had known he wouldn’t fit in with all the snobby rich kids and he had been right, he didn’t fit in here, his social status making him enough of a target to be shunned by the rest of them. He really didn’t need them to think he was a weakling on top of the destitute nerd. He wanted at least that much dignity.

What he hadn’t known up until that day was that soon enough none of this would matter anymore, what his peers thought of him no longer of concern from here on out. He’d take their hazing over the events of this day for the rest of his life if it prevented him from living in constant fear of a repeat of _that._

But back to before. The sounds of running water had ceased when he made it into the locker room, the final trio of fellow students just on their way out. One of them, Leon, purposely bumped into him as he passed him in the doorway, and the teenager suppressed a hiss as a tender contusion on his back connected with the edge of the metal frame. “Watch where you’re going, skunk.” Jay clenched his teeth but didn’t say anything, merely held his breath as he waited for the older kids to vanish down the hall. Once they were out of sight, he shuffled to his locker, stripped out of his sticky gym clothes, and grabbed his towel and body wash before heading into the adjacent communal showers. He stepped under the cold spray – the warm water was always used up at this point, but he couldn’t care less, chose it even because of the soothing effect the cool mist had on his endlessly sore body – and rid himself off the sweat in quick fashion and presumed privacy.

That he wasn’t as alone as he had thought he was didn’t register until he prepared to walk back into the changing room, towel loosely wrapped around his midsection. He felt the presence before he saw it, nevertheless jumped as he rounded the corner and came face to face with Mr. Beckett. Relaxed just a fraction when it wasn’t a prowling classmate but his PE teacher. Though, on second thought he might have preferred a classmate. He tensed up again when he became conscious of his current attire, or lack thereof, really, the entire landscape on his torso and upper arms on full display for the coach to see.

Jay’s eyes widened, face blanching in realization: Mr. Beckett knew of his habit to shower only once everyone else had left the premises, just like he knew that he was a loner, didn’t have any friends. Seeing those bruises, he’d probably think his peers beat him up repeatedly. Regulations would stipulate him into notifying not just the principal but also his parents and that would bring a whole new set of problems. This was a disaster. He was so screwed. His mom would find out. Sure, his father would be furious that he hadn’t managed to keep this hidden, but the teenager could take the beating. He couldn’t, however, take the pain and devastation this would certainly inflict on his mom. This would crush her spirits, her firm belief that their family life was intact, harmonic even. The reality she lived in might be false, but at least she was happy in it. Well, as happy as someone battling cancer could be, but happy, nonetheless. He needed to keep it this way, come hell or high water.

“Th-this isn’t what it looks like, Coach,” Jay blurted out and crossed his arms in front of his chest. As if that would obscure the countless purples, blues, greens, and yellows. He was a fool for even trying. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried to come up with a believable story as how those colorful shapes came to be. In the end, he stuttered himself through an excuse of being in fights with an older neighbor kid, assuring his teacher that the situation was being handled already. Belying himself as he concluded his aimless rambling with a desperate plea of, “please don’t tell my parents, Mr. Beckett.” Way to go. Very believable indeed. Not. He glanced up at the man through long lashes, anyway, hoping he’d fall for his fluke. When the man failed to respond, he repeated, “please don’t tell…”

A coarse finger pressed on his lips, effectively stopping him mid-sentence. Jay quieted immediately. Not because of the shushing motion but because of the strange look taking hold of the coach’s eyes. The gaze was intense, filled with a variety of emotions but none of them ones the teenager would expect to see in anyone who just found a kid covered from shoulder to naval in bruises. He’d have expected concern, pity, anger, disgust even. Instead, he was faced with something else entirely, and what he saw not just gave him the creeps, it scared the living daylight out of him. The usual light grey irises had darkened to an almost anthracite color, and they were full of adoration and affection. Just not the kind anyone would want to see. It was the kind of admiration that was pure hunger, desire, lust, lechery. And to top it all off, the man’s tongue darted out, alluringly wetting then lingering between his parted lips. Jay wasn’t stupid, he knew what this meant.

Before he could fully process what all this alluded to, though, he already felt a feathery touch on his left hip. He flinched away from it hard, only to realize that he had somehow been backed against the wall when his bare back met cold tiles, wet with residual water. His heartrate spiked and he tried to sidestep his PE teacher, but Beckett anticipated his move and blocked his path. Panic rose, heartrate picking up even more as the hand that had just brushed him snaked around his waist and grabbed at his behind through the terrycloth of his towel. Jay leapt again but had no way of escaping. He was a caged animal, had nowhere to go.

A shudder ripped through him like an electrical shock, leaving him trembling with abject fear. Never in his life had he been as terrified as he was now, and his terror was still growing as he became aware that he couldn’t break free. He was scrawny, too small for his thirteen years of age, puberty having done nothing so far in terms of a growth spurt or buffing-up that would help him defend himself much less fight off his coach turned monster. The man was around fifty, but he was a former wrestler, stood proud at six feet two and two-hundred-twenty pounds of pure muscle mass. If he wanted to, he could very well squish him with his bare fist.

Judging from the claw that currently travelled from his lip down his slender frame, rough fingertips trailing along the darker bruises, circling every single one of them while the other hand still groped his buttocks, Mr. Beckett’s objective was just that. The hand up front moved further south and Jay shivered again, paralyzed by what was happening. His breath hitched and he gulped past the impossibly large lump in his throat. “Don’t. Please don’t,” he squeaked out breathily, voice oh so frail and shaky, when the teacher squeezed his crotch through the towel. “Please don’t do this,” the thirteen-year-old cried out weakly, voice small and sobby.

“Shh, don’t talk. Just relax,” the coach cooed huskily as his face came within inches of Jay’s. The man’s breaths came out in short, frequent gasps, his thrill and arousal obvious. A foul stench tickled the brunette’s nostrils with every exhale, and it made his stomach churn. The visage crept even closer, a purred, “you’re beautiful, you know that?” made the boy’s skin crawl as the tremble of his body became even more violent. Stubble scratched at his cheeks and before he had the chance to move away, wet lips forced themselves on his, tongue begging for entrance. But Jay pressed his lips together vehemently, denying him access, and turned his head away, the sloppy kiss ending up in a moist drag of lips across his face. He closed his eyes minutely, hoping the threat would leave if his did, but his anxiety spiked tenfold at not knowing what was happening to him, so he opened them wide again.

For a moment nothing happened, Beckett hesitating due to his defiance. The teenager allowed himself to feel relief, but it was short-lived because the teacher was suddenly spurred into action again, exploring other, even more intimate parts of his body. Hands, c _laws_ , groped at every inch of his contused upper body, eventually hovered just above his covered manhood. Fingers fumbled with the terrycloth, his uncoordinated movements attesting to his sickening excitement. A contented sigh escaped the man as the last piece of protection slipped off the teenager’s frame, leaving him completely exposed. Jay tasted bile at the back of his throat, was barely able to control the quakes rippling through him. A strangled and gurgling whimper escaped him; a sound so foreign to his own ears that he was almost certain it wasn’t his.

One of the claws, the one that had rested flat on his buttocks, vanished, and the thirteen-year-old saw a painstaking chance of breaking free. He squirmed and bucked, but even with one hand roaming his body the man was too strong for him, effectively pinning him against the tiles, allowing for a minimal range of movement. The sound of a belt buckle then a zipper opening echoed in the bathroom, followed by the rustling of pants as they were pushed down. Jay blinked away the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes, bulging orbs staring at the opposite wall of the communal showers as the noise reverberated deafeningly in his ears and he couldn’t suppress the agonizing sob. Something moist sprang against his abdomen. Everything after happened in a blur.

Instinct took over, and in a surge of adrenaline the young teen jerked his pointy knee upwards once, twice, three times straight into his perpetrator’s crown jewels. The two-hundred-plus pounds lifted off him immediately, its owner crying out in pain and stumbling backwards before dropping to his knees with a pained groan. “You little bastard!” Beckett squeezed out between clenched teeth, his voice wheezy and high-pitched. Jay was temporarily frozen. Eyes glued on his teacher as he curled into a ball and writhed in pain on the floor beneath him. Then his sense of self-preservation returned. He grabbed the soaking towel off the tiles, wrapped himself tightly in it and was about to make a hasty retreat, when one of the calloused hands clawed at his ankle, nearly bringing him down. Somehow, he managed to keep standing, even tried to shake the hand off. But it was in vain. The man held on tight, dug his nails in his tender skin. “You say a word about this, and I’ll tell your parents about the bruises,” he snarled, pain still etched in Beckett’s voice. The brunette stared down at him, face scrunched up in anguish and horror. “You hear me?”

Jay found himself nodding fearfully, but the pressure on his leg didn’t let up until he verbalized with a shaky, “Yessir.” When it did, the thirteen-year-old scurried away instantly, stopped in the locker room just long enough to carelessly slip into his sweater and jeans, foregoing underwear, socks or even shoes, just grabbing his stuff and stumbling out of the gym, closing the button and zipper of his pants on the way out. Shaky legs carried him across campus and down the street in unbelievably high-speed considering his bare feet and overall leaflike state, only stopped once he was three blocks away from the school’s majestic building. He found himself sliding down a filthy brick wall behind a dumpster in an alley off a hectic street, hidden both from prying eyes and ears.

Telling himself he’d stay just long enough to cool his nerves and his hiccoughing breathing, just long enough to let a few traitorous stray tears fall, just long enough to compose himself, he ended up sitting there in the dirty mud for almost an hour. Shivering, trembling, shaking uncontrollably as he felt the ghost of the clawing hands all over his body. Wrapping his arms around himself protectively, digging his nails into his bruised ribcage painfully to distract his mind from the lascivious gropes of that monster, that beast of a coach. Sobbing, weeping, choking, gagging as his body tried to rid itself of the stench of the man’s foul breath, the images, the remaining sensations. He retched and retched but even when all that remained were the convulsing dry heaves the stench, the images, the sensations refused to budge.

Eventually, he gave up, tears, snot and bile smeared all over his face. He tried to wipe the residuals away with the sleeve of his sweater, then pushed himself up from his crouch into a kneel into a seated position. Put on his socks and shoes, trying, and failing multiple times to tie the laces with hands that couldn’t stop the pronounced tremor. Yowling in frustration, he stuffed them under the shoe tongue, then stood on wobbly legs, setting out for a forty-minute trek home. He could have taken the bus but knew his appearance would draw unwanted attention to him, raise red flags even. Besides, he needed more time to cool off. Time not to process but bury the stench, the images, the sensations into a box at the very back of his mind, never to be opened again, never to be revealed to another living soul. No-one could ever find out about this. Not his father, not his brother, not his mother. Especially not his mother.

It happened on May 5th, 1999. A Wednesday. Jay would only remember the date so clearly because it had been the day after his thirteenth birthday. Though he wouldn’t forget the terrifying experience from that day if it had been any other arbitrary day on the calendar, they would be his secret and his alone, and he would take them to his grave.

**Author's Note:**

> Very recently, I found myself in an extremely uncomfortable situation at work. I knew what was happening as it happened and I somehow (don’t ask me how) managed to deescalate before things got out of hand. Maybe it was previous experiences, maybe it was just quick reflexes. I don’t know and I don’t care, I’m just relieved that things turned out the way they did. Either way, it took a few days and a near-repeat of the circumstances before I fully processed it, and I realized that by keeping quiet I would not just validate what happened, but I would also put my coworkers at risk of finding themselves in that same situation, and they might not come out as unscathed as I did.
> 
> Sexual harassment is not okay. Not in the work environment, not anywhere else. I admire every single survivor out there. You have my utmost respect. I’d never allow myself to downplay or judge anyone for it, and I’d never judge how someone deals with the outfall. I do, however, encourage anyone who ever finds themselves in such a situation to talk to someone. Spouse, friend, coworker, therapist, a total stranger – doesn’t matter. But tell someone. For me, the only person I told is a coworker I don’t even get along with most of the time but who I knew would set the necessary repercussions in motion. I don’t even know how to thank her for that. What she did for me was bad-ass, truly heroic. 
> 
> We talk a lot about the risks medical personnel takes these days in the fight against Covid. As a nurse, I know that risk all too well and I won’t downgrade them. But there are other risks too. Risks that are never spoken about. Risks that come with tending and caring for all kinds of people. Not all of those are nice people, yet we treat them anyway without judgment because that’s our job. Unfortunately, it’s not that uncommon for medical personnel to be sexually harassed by patients. It’s not okay!
> 
> That said, I don’t want any pity. I just want to raise awareness.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're all staying safe and vigilant and healthy.


End file.
